Mayday
by Save
Summary: Rated R for cursing an' for future scenes. Vin x Cid. Vincent struggles to cope after learning of Cid's tragic death, and is desperate to cling to some shred of hope. *Chapter Two Up*
1. Broken Bronco

.M.A.Y.D.A.Y.  
  
-Save  
  
.Land to Air.  
  
.Air to Sky.  
  
.Sky to Space.  
  
.C.i.d. .H.i.g.h.w.i.n.d.  
  
(Characters and counterparts copyrighted to Squaresoft.)  
  
(http://highwind.nu - Hopefully soon to come.)  
  
(Rated R. Yaoi and sexual innuendoes for those who seek them. Cid x Vincent. Heavy cursing (Cid's involved, there has to be), mild violence. Intro's pretty clean. Possible "citrus" in later chapers/additions. Uncensored. Any omitted sex scenes will be uploaded elsewhere and linked. Edited versions will be uploaded here as dilute lemonjuice (I made a funny). Angst, depression, themes of suicide and drug refrences. I am not advocating the use of drugs.)  
  
"Mayday: Broken Bronco," - Save  
  
"Fuck."  
  
  
  
It was an adequate description of the situation. Vincent Valentine, Death Penalty in hand, was once again listening to the scratchy recording of Cid Highwind's last words. Pale knuckles whitened further as they tensed upon the weapon's cold metal; he felt a heat within his own body, building. How dare they. He could feel Chaos growing, and was confused: how could his limit be reached through silent white rage alone? Yet he knew the reason. The pain he felt building inside of him burn and stung worse than any materia's power, any weapon's bite. And it continued to build, nearly breaking before he managed to take a hold of it. This silent rage would be taken out slowly, or it would explode without warning upon whomever was unlucky enough to release it.. Rising to his feet, Vincent Valentine left the control room of the Highwind, and flowed silently to the upper deck. Placing his weapon back into it's holster, both claw and hand clutched the railing before him desperately, his crimson eyes tightly shut as he once more struggled to surpress his inner demons. Chaos could not be released. Not here. Not now. As he calmed yet again, the mocking voice of that cursed demon invaded his head, and he reluctantly began to dwell on the problem at hand once more. I have sinned again.  
  
The so-called "situation" was this: Cid, desperate for a moment's respite after the final battle, had repaired the Tiny Bronco and temorarily left the team. It was no big deal; most of the party had separated for the time being, each seeking for what they had fought for yet again, to see if they had succeeded, to see if it still existed. Only then would they know if they really had won. Still, Cid hardly had anything. His weapon, the Venus Gospel; his airship, the Highwind; his ever-present pack of cigarettes. He had mastered the air, and flown to space. His dream had been a reality. What was left now? Rocket Town? Hardly... He had payed his debt to Shera after realizing his mistake, and they had parted with hardly a word. Shinra No. 26, the rocket, his rocket, was gone. His dream was gone. He had lived through it, what else was there now? He had fought off these thoughts for as long as he could, spending his time repairing the Tiny Bronco and managing the Highwind, sharing his space with the one man he could tolerate: Vincent Valentine.  
  
  
  
Vincent was much the same as he was: he had no one, he had nothing. His home was a coffin that he would not return to, his dream was buried beneath years of Shinra's lies. Cid and Vincent had become close. Though Vincent hardly spoke, Cid knew he listened. That was all he needed. Someone to listen to him, to not argue when he cursed, to understand the pain he hid. The latter wasn't even discussed; somehow, Vincent just knew. They were so different, yet so alike. Even without words Vincent felt Cid's pain, understood it and felt it as well. But this mutual understanding wasn't good enough for Cid Highwind.  
  
He broke. Cid Highwind broke.  
  
It was a silent, shattering fissure that no one could sense. No one bothered to notice when his cigarette habit picked up even further, only Vincent could identify the distress his friend was in. Cid had nothing at all, and he knew it. He wasn't Vincent, he couldn't blame it on himself and find peace in being locked up in a tomb for all eternity. He couldn't remain silent, channeling his rage into the task at hand. He was an uncontrolable force to be wary of, and when the weight of the nothingness fell upon him, for once he wasn't strong enough to stay standing. Only Vincent was aware of his departure, and he knew well enough not to stop his friend. The man would have to find his own way. He strode aboard the Tiny Bronco, cursing wildly all the way, and spat a gruff farewell towards Vincent as he set the small plane along. All Vincent could do was nod gently; he had no words to speak, no actions to do, and by the time he thought of what should be said, the Bronco was already a dot in the distance. He'd missed his chance. Again.  
  
Of course Cid would return. He simply had nothing to believe in any longer. As they had all done previously, he had left to find something that had been previously unknown to him. This time, rather than it being a cause for fighting, it was a reason for living. With nothing left, and no importance, where was the point in going on? Vincent understood this. He had felt the same. Upon joining Cloud's team, he had found a temporary purpose. They all had. For the Planet, for their friends, for relatives or loved ones. For Cid. And upon Sephiroth's defeat, Vincent's reason for life had not retreated; Cid still lived. And though he was undead, Vincent found in Cid a reason not to return to his coffin and sleep. But Cid...  
  
He was hard on himself. True, he was hard on everyone, but underneath the cocky demeanor he was twice as demanding of himself. He pushed himself to the limits to achieve something, and he thrived on hope. What kept him alive was his own mission; his desire to travel to space. Then, it was completed. His dream was gone. The following days went by far to fast for it to be noticed, and yet it ate away at him the whole time. A sudden nothingness. He grew closer to Vincent in those days, depending on him, struggling to find in him the hope he craved. But he was uncomfortable with his feelings, and once again drew away. No one noticed but Vincent. Cid forced himself into believing that he had nothing to live for; his dream was destroyed, he was afraid of his love life. He was afraid of himself.  
  
Vincent had been the one to suggest that he take a short break, try to find a purpose again. Knowing the truth in his words, Cid had taken the advice, and had finished up the Tiny Bronco's repairs before leaving, with only Vincent there to wave him off. He knew Cid would return. Emotions had to be confronted at some point, and he would realize his own goals and come back. He had to.  
  
Then came the news of the crash.  
  
Shera had brought it to them, the dented and scarred black box, each side emblazoned with the letter "H" and a rocket. Each of them knew it on sight, and sat in frigid silence as she told them the story, or as much of it as she knew. Cid had arrived in Rocket Town, a week or so after he had originally left the Highwind. He had told her he had figured himself out, and wouldn't be returning to Rocket Town for a while. He had other plans, someone he had to see. She had informed him that she could handle the town in his absence, as she had been doing previously, and for once he did not curse or chide her. She also found the courage to mention that she did not love him. Indeed, she had always been afraid that his cold gestures were simply his crazy way of flirting, and it releaved her to know that he did not feel that way. The someone he had to see, he said, was someone he could find love in. She had nodded, and waved a farewell as he boarded the Tiny Bronco and started up the engines once more.  
  
  
  
She had gone to the launch pad to watch his departure. Though he was hard on her, they had a special friendship, and she felt obligated to watch what might be his final flight from Rocket Town. Or perhaps, she had recalled, something had called her there. Something had made her climb up the supports and wave a teary goodbye to her friend, something compelled her to stare into the sky until the Bronco was no more than a tiny speck along the horizon's expanse. Whatever the reason, she was the only one who saw. The bright flash of light, the blue flares, the small puff of smoke as something mechanical exploded on a distant mountain side. Then there was nothing. Smoke still rose from the impact point, but nothing was in the air. No attacker, no Tiny Bronco, no Cid.  
  
  
  
It was only Shera who saw, and it was only Shera who had gone to the wreckage. Twisted shardes of pink and peach metal had still been aflame, huge spires of smoke curling up into the darkening sky. Cid's sky... She had sifted through all of it, alone, digging through the rubble to rescue her friend, or worse, to find what remained of him. Shera came up empty handed. He couldn't have ejected, all the equipment seemed to be in order, nothing was missing. The whole tale she had retold to Cloud's team and, though her voice betrayed her, she struggled to leave them with some sense of hope. She could hardly account for the burned bits of parachute and upholstery, as these were long gone, and it was possible that some had been missing. She failed to mention that she had not seen a parachute or any sort of device fall from the plane, nor did she include the details of the horribly mangled Bronco; it was quite obvious that it had been utterly destroyed upon impact. But Cid's body had not been found, and each team member could sense the pain and lingering hope throughout the room. But only one was truely pained.  
  
Vincent was the first to leave the room. Gliding forward, striding gracefully as always, his face seemed to take on a more somber look, moreso than it normally held. The metal crafted to represent a lost hand gripped the handle of the large box, while the flesh of his right hoisted it upwards. He carried the small recording device with ease, bringing it towards the control room. No one dared to follow or argue with the dark man. They would hear the tape in good time.  
  
  
  
And now, upon the deck of the Highwind, Vincent relived the horrible moment in which he opened the box and listened to the gruff recording. He recalled his friend's final words with ease, hearing every scratching word, wincing at every biting tone. He panted heavily, as the voice became more real, and Chaos played it yet again in his own mind.  
  
  
  
"Good ta' finally leave this shit. Headin' back to my fuckin' Highwind, better a plane than this piece of shit... Could never rightly fix it," Cid's voice was clear in his head, and Vincent could almost picture the chain of events as they happened. "Can't believe Vinnie was right. Sendin' me off to 'find myself' and that shit... Fuck, he was right, damnit." The pilot continued to speak to himself, unaware that the black device was picking up every word, not knowing that these few senteces would be his last. He was probably lighting a cigarette, Vincent thought, unaware that something was wrong. An explosion sounded; there was a whirring, and Cid spoke once more. "What the fuck?! What in shit's name was that?" Then there was static and noise, each screaching to a halt as the sound of a collision overtook them. Vincent had hoped that Cid would have gone peacefully, but Chaos swiftily chided him with a harsh reminder of the pain Cid must have been in. A scream shattered the recording, piercing Vincent's mind, and the grating words sounded forced, as though the being uttering them could hardly speak. "Vinnie... fuck it... Highwind... mayday, damnit, mayday.." Vincent clutched the railing as the last few words trailed through his mind, echoing. Chaos grew. Cid's voice returned, just as harsh, though the words seemed wet, blocked by liquid, choked.   
  
"Damn, Vin... goin' down... Mayd-"  
  
The final explosion of the Tiny Bronco resounded through Vincent's head, his friend's voice sounding terrified and alone before being finally cut off. With the last word uttered, Vincent released his mind just as Chaos' claws released their holds on the railing, and the beast gained altitude before leaving the pilotless Highwind behind.   
  
(To be continued. I'm actively working on this... Review if you wish, tell me if I should continue writing it. It's far from done. And try to ignore the spelling errors, I had to type the whole thing up in WordPad. Blech. )  
  
-Save. 


	2. Left Hanging

.M.A.Y.D.A.Y.  
  
-Save  
  
.Land to Air.  
  
.Air to Sky.  
  
.Sky to Space.  
  
.C.i.d. .H.i.g.h.w.i.n.d.  
  
(Characters and counterparts copyrighted to Squaresoft.)  
  
(http://highwind.nu - Hopefully soon to come.)  
  
(Rated R. Yaoi and sexual innuendoes for those who seek them. Cid x Vincent. Heavy cursing (Cid's involved, there has to be), mild violence. Intro's pretty clean. Possible "citrus" in later chapers/additions. Uncensored. Any omitted sex scenes will be uploaded elsewhere and linked. Edited versions will be uploaded here as dilute lemonjuice (I made a funny). Angst, depression, themes of suicide and drug refrences. I am not advocating the use of drugs.)  
  
(This whole next chapter is dedicated to La Cidiana, because she kicked enough ass to review meh poor fic. Thank you so much! n.n;; And thanks to anyone else who reviewed after I started this, but only she gets credit 'cause she was the first. :Mean: But her one review is what allowed me to write more, so woo. The more reviews, the quicker I write, so if anyone out there actually likes this, please tell me! Thanks in advance.)  
  
"Mayday: Left Hanging," - Save  
  
Something was digging into his shoulders. His sides ached. Now that he thought about it, something was digging into his sides as well. He tried not to think. It hurt too much. The rest of his senses were dulled; he couldn't see, all he heard were bells, and he didn't even want to attempt to speak. He hadn't felt all this a moment ago, he was sure. And yet it felt like he'd been hanging for eternity. Hanging? Why had he assumed that? But the pain was so familliar, the ache... Then it hit him. He could distantly feel the harness of what was unmistakably a parachute pressing harshly into his shoulders and sides. The pain was there, but it somehow felt detatched, far away. Concentrating, he could now feel the throbbing pain in his head, the blood pumping slowly, gravitating downwards. Yeah, that's where I got it from, he thought, I'm fuckin' upside-down. He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and struggled to move as the pain intensified.  
  
Cid Highwind opened his eyes. There was a flash of normal vision before his eyes were filled with a clouded red haze, his gaze distorted and fuzzy. Pain-induced rainbows burst across the red background, and it was impossible to focus. He continued to see spots, and quickly gave up on focusing. But he was definitely upside-down, and he was definitely hurting. Yeah, that last one was a sure thing. He hadn't felt this much pain since... since Sephiroth, since he'd been forced to crash the Highwind after Meteor. He didn't want to think about the pain, from then or from now. His eyes shut again, and he was resigned to simply breathing once more.  
  
It was a good ten minutes before he could summon up enough energy to open his eyes again. The crimson fog had lifted somewhat, and he managed to focus his eyes on the horizon. He was awe-struck. The pain seemed to temporarily ease as he gazed upon the vast expanse of land before him, staring straight into the sunset. The sun was already behind the mountains, and the sky was left radiating a brilliant titian glow. He suddenly gasped and choked; for the first time, he noticed the blood around   
  
his mouth, and felt the dryness of his throat. Cid continued to suck in deep breaths, desperate to remove himself from this position. Ripping his eyes from the sunset, he focused on analyzing his situation.  
  
Apparantly, the chute had gotten stuck in a tree, which happened to be a good fifty feet from the ground. He was hanging precariously in mid-air, though he had no trouble with the height; he was a pilot, after all. The branches were thick about him, and he knew that if he managed to reach one, it wouldn't be so tough to reach the ground. If he weren't in so much fucking pain, at least... Cid paused for a moment, and reluctantly took the time to think about what sort of state he happened to be in, knowing full well he didn't have his restore materia with him. He mentally focused on each part of his body, knowing where the pain radiated from; his left leg was virtually unresponsive, and sent waves of burning pain up his spine. There was an pressing ache in his chest, he could feel that as well. Probably some broken ribs, he thought, but at least they haven't punctured anything. Maybe a bad collar bone, it hurt to move his head and arms. His left wrist stung each time he moved it, and he assumed it might have a minor fracture. His head hurt like a bitch, but he couldn't tell yet if he had actually injured it, or if it was simply from the large amount of blood that was flowing towards his brain.   
  
That reminded him of the fact that he was still hanging upside-down. Heights when right-side-up are one thing, but completely different when the blood's rushing to one's head and one's whole body is being torn apart by that annoying thing known as gravity. Cid knew he had to move; he wasn't sure what, but something was bound to happen if he stayed like that. He felt a tingling in his face, knew that he was losing circulation. Maybe my head'll explode, save me the trouble of climbing down... With a pang of guilt, he remembered Vincent. He couldn't just die, he knew that, even if he had been joking in the first place. Vincent'd care. But hell, for all he knew, Vincent didn't know, or worse, thought he was already dead. Someone must have at least heard the crash, and he didn't appear to be anywhere near it. Even if he was, who'd think of looking in a fucking tree? He sighed, yet refused to lose hope. He had to do this by himself, it seemed. He had to do this for Vincent.  
  
Gritting his teeth, Cid began the first attempt at escape. Blowing his scarf from his face, he shifted his weight, causing the whole hanging contraption to swing gently towards the tree's trunk. He continued to sway back and fourth, adding as much pressure as his broken body would allow. Pain surged through his arm as he reached out, grimacing once more. He felt gravity pulling the weakened limb down, but continued to hold it outstretched. Swinging once more to the trunk, he grunted with the effort it took, and threw his tired hand up to grasp the closest limb. Spots exploded throughout his feild of vision; he nearly screamed with the pain that wracked his body, but managed to hold on. Biting his lip, he didn't bother to notice when he severed the skin, the slight pain easily overwhelmed; blood flowed from the new wound, and joined the dried crimson grit clinging to his face.   
  
He'd grabbed the thinnest part of the branch, as his fractured wrist wouldn't allow much more movement, and the thin leaves that were holding him in place were slowly giving way. Ignoring his protesting chest, he twisted harshly to the side and reached upwards to grasp a thicker part of the limb. Now his whole body shouted insults at him in the form of throbbing pain; he felt the thick beating pulse of his blood, the hurt that it carried throughout his body. Cid put his arms on mental auto-pilot and paused, breathing heavily as he struggled to regain his composure. The pain ebbed briefly, and he took the oppertunity to lurch further up the branch, swinging his injured left arm over the right. It was a slow process; after each movement he was forced to stop, breathe for five minutes or so just to let the pain subside, and then slide the opposite arm closer to the trunk.   
  
His intense labors were rewarded within the hour, though he knew he would be paying for them as soon as he stopped to rest. Reaching the trunk of the tree, Cid slid his weight down, resting his uninjured right leg upon the broad tree limb just below. He grimaced, hugging the oversized tree trunk as he edged outwards a bit more, twisting his exhausted and battered body, slowly easing it down into a more comfortable position upon the branch. Cid glanced about for his next destination, but the branch was broad and dry, and oddly comfortable... He knew the best thing was to actually take the time to figure out what sort of mess he'd gotten himself into, but the exhaustion overwhelmed him, and as he tried to apply himself to some sort of coherent thought process, sleep claimed his wrecked body, and the pilot's blue eyes shut.  
  
Sleep always came first.  
  
(Erk. To make up for the huuuuge amount of time between chapters, I'll write the next one as quick as I can. It'll hopefully be longer than this too, and a lot better. x.x Sorry for all of you who waited for this short peice of ick... I'll make it up to you, I swear!) -Save 


End file.
